So I finally went up Notre-Dame today. I’ve seen it probably a hundred times, at all hours of the day and night, but never have I actually gone inside. Well, this morning we woke up early (for us! Though not by everyone else’s standards, apparently, because the line was epic) and went to have the classic Notre-Dame experience of climbing the hundreds of steps to the top of the bell tower to enjoy the views of Paris.

Well, it was spectacular. The weather has been kind of dreadful all week – rain and wind, clouds all the time – but during the time we spent at the cathedral it was bright and sunny. From the tower, we could see everything… all of Paris; all the sights that have become important to us over the course of the past quarter. I think Notre-Dame probably is the best view in the city. It was designed to be the heart of Paris, and still is, even after all these years and tourist visits, so it gives a central perspective on everything. And it’s just the right height… every normal building in Paris is about eight stories high, and Notre-Dame is just a touch higher, so you can peer out over the roofs, and all the monuments which stand out – the Eiffel Tour, the Centre Pompidou, the Dome Church, the Pantheon, etc. – are in perfect perspective. It’s a great vantage point to look out over the city.

I’m so glad I did it now, instead of at the beginning. It’s funny, because Notre-Dame was the first thing I went to my first full day in Paris, just to see it, to take pictures of the outside, to look at it from the plaza, from the bridges, from the banks of the Seine. But now I was able to appreciate not only the way it looks but the view it offers. From horizon to horizon, we could pick out dozens of places which have some memory attached to them. Some, like the Jardin Luxembourg, were the places we’ve gone almost every day. Others were the places we’ve been to once. But the point is that we weren’t just seeing buildings. We were looking out over the life we’ve led these past few months, over the paths and journeys we’ve taken, over the Parisian tableau upon which we’ve lived our days.

It’s over, folks. Yes, I’m here for one more day; yes, I’m still having fun, and I’m going to enjoy tomorrow, I can promise you that! But it really is over. My time in Paris has passed, and this city will never be the same to me again. It’s a little bit heartbreaking.

I still have more to tell you: adventures from this week, of course, and thoughts on this wonderful city that has interwoven itself through our lives, more thoughts than you could probably ever find interesting, but which nevertheless you will find sometime soon on this blog! But the next time you hear from me, faithful reader, I will not be writing from Paris. It really is over. I hate to say it, and I’m not ready, but that doesn’t matter. It’s over.

Au revoir, dear people who read this. I look forward to seeing you soon. And au revoir, Paris. You will be missed.

I am feeling extremely content right now; it's been a good weekend. Let me tell you about it. This might be long, be warned! I'm in a chatty / typey mood.

:: Comme d'habitude, my weekend began in earnest on Thursday. It always does, but it especially did this week because we decided to skip our class (we were having a double session of the really boring one and just couldn't handle the thought of going). I was exhausted anyhow; I had had a legitimate amount of work (a long paper in French and a final in the Louvre class) during the beginning of the week and was a little burned out. So I took some time on Thursday to see some stuff. I decided to visit the part of Paris called "Les Grands Boulevards," the epitome of Paris's distinctive style of wide (perhaps even grand) boulevards and homogeneous bourgeois architecture.
The main attractions of the area are a church called La Madeleine (built in a neo-classical style and quite pretty), the famous opera house, and "Les Grands Magasins." Magasin is the French word for department store; it was here that the department store was born in the 1800s, catering to Paris's booming middle class. I was especially excited to visit them, expecting huge temples to consumerism, at least as splendid as churches. Alas, they didn't quite turn out that way; the one I explored, Au Printemps, looked an awful lot like Bloomingdale's on the inside. The top floor did have a famous tea room called La Coupole with this gorgeous outsized stained glass dome taking up the entire ceiling, and it was suitably impressive, but overall I wasn't amazed.
Not really that swept away by Les Grands Boulevards, I went to Montmartre. I thought I'd have a lot of time to see stuff, but by the time I got there, it was getting late; I only had the chance to see one thing on my list, a church called Saint-Jean-L'Evangeliste. The church combines Islamic arches, art nouveau brickwork, and a classic church design. It was pretty cool. The funniest part was that it was at the métro stop we always use when we go to Montmartre. But we're always there at night, so I'd never even noticed this lovely building! I felt kind of lame and unobservant.
After that, I went to meet the others on Île-Saint-Louis for some gustatory pleasures. We went first to Berthillon, a famous ice cream shop (not a gelaterie) and supposedly the best glace in Paris. Well, it was delicious, but not otherworldly or anything. I enjoy our local gelato chain (Amorino) much more. Then, after some chill-out time on the banks of the Seine, we went to Angelina's, a Paris institution famous for its hot chocolate. Well, this is not a phrase I use lightly, since I love all things sweet and chocolatey, but this hot chocolate was honestly too rich. It just sat in my stomach and was a chore to finish. Eek.
So, Thursday was a day of disappointments. But that's okay -- they were all things I had to see or try, and were worth experiencing. :) Better to find out they aren't as good as the hype would have us believe!

:: I spent most of the day on Friday finishing up a paper, sadly. But I did have time for the most traumatic experience of my time in Paris, and a fabulous all-night revel after that. It was a busy, wonderful day! Hold on; this one might be long in the telling.
First the trauma: it was just another language disaster, but by far the worst one I've ever had. After I finished my paper, I decided to do my week's grocery shopping. It was getting late and I wanted to go out Friday night, of course, so I didn't go to my usual, preferred grocery store and instead went to one nearer my dorm. Well. I gathered my desired purchased, including some tomatoes, and made my way to the check-out. The tomatoes were the last to go through, but when they got to the lady she picked them up and said:
"Mumble mumble mumble."
Me: "Comment?"
Her: "Mumble mumble mumble!"
Me: not understanding.
She rolled her eyes and did this exasperated gesture with the tomatoes, putting them into the palm of her hand. And I couldn't understand for the life of me what she was trying to say. Finally the woman behind me in line turned and said, "Weight. Weight!" in English. So I guess I was supposed to weigh them myself somewhere. Looking madder, the cashier pointed in the direction of the produce aisle and gestured for me to go there. And I hurried over, cheeks burning, seeing the whole line of French people either looking amused or angry.
The worst part was that I couldn't find the scale or whatever. I saw nothing, not a sign or a scale or anything. Flustered, embarrassed, I just ditched the tomatoes where I'd picked them up and raced back. On the way the security guard stopped me. "You have to weight the tomatoes! You have to weight the tomatoes!" he told me, in English. I just ignored him, threw some bills in the cashier's hand, grabbed my other groceries, speeding out of there and feeling like crying. Oh my god, it was horrible. It may not sound like much, but it was so embarrassing. Not only did I fail at French, but I couldn't even find the stupid scale! I can never go back there again. Anyhow, it put me into a really bad mood. I went home and ate half a jar of Nutella with a fork to console myself.
I'm afraid my bad mood followed me for a few hours. After getting back, I went to meet Silvia and Vicky and La Rhumerie, a Brazilian bar, where we'd been dying to get some fried plantains. They were good, but I was a little upset. These things can be traumatic.
Then, however, everything started to go well. We split ways because we all had different plans for the evening. I, for one, was going to a free concert I saw advertised. To be held in a church very near the Stanford center, it was a Mozart concert featuring the choir and orchestra of the 6eme arrondissement, our neighborhood. I'd been kind of wanting to go to a concert in a church so it seemed like a good idea.
Well, it was a lot of fun. For one thing, it felt like a community affair; these were the community ensembles, and everyone seemed to know each other. People were waving and talking across the pews. It also felt very intimate and familial. The orchestra was not that great, and there were some obvious mistakes... and when they happened, the French people all gasped and cackled and murmured, even though it was in the middle of a concert! I was amused and a little horrified. But I don't think they were just being mean... at the end, they clapped ridiculously hard and summoned the groups for an encore. I guess they just felt comfortable being honest. Anyhow, it was a great evening. I felt very... absorbed by a random French cultural event, and it redeemed the French in my eyes. I just think it's really cool that the government of Paris (the Mairie) puts on stuff like this. Good for Paris.
Anyhow, feeling much better about Paris and the world, I headed out for the distant 20eme arrondissement to meet up with Nafis, Vicky, and Silvia for dinner. They had been to a different concert in La Maroquinerie, a "Fortress of Culture" in the youth-oriented bohemian area we visited last weekend, and we ended up eating in the restaurant part of the complex. Actually, it was very good, edgy cuisine of the kind you don't see in Paris that much. I got "spaghetti," which was actually an organic vegetable salad with all the veggies cut (or naturally) in spaghetti-like strands. I also had a crème unbrûlée for dessert, which was better than it sounds. :)
After dinner, we picked our way through the slightly seedy and emptying streets of the area towards Oberkampf, a currently-trendy nightlife area. There was a bar there called Café Charbon we've been meaning to visit, and although it took a while to get there, we settled in there for a great evening. Oh, was it ever a wonderful place! Probably my favorite bar I've ever been to. This is supposedly a converted 1920's dance club; it has beautiful carved ceilings above but a gritty bar below, with a DJ mounted on the wall, playing familiar rock / dance hits. We were lucky to score a booth in a prime location and settled in for like 3 hours.
We had two interactions with French people at this bar. A sketchy old dude sat next to us and creepily tried to engage us in conversation. Lamest line ever: "Where are you from?" -- We don't respond -- "Ask me a question, any question, and I'll tell you where you're from!" As though that's a game we want to play. Vicky rocked this situation, though; she turned to him and said, "I'm sorry. We just don't want to talk to you." And turned away. Way to fucking go, Vicky!
Anyhow, feeling anti-French, we were less than eager when the dude next to us tried to engage us in conversation. But somehow we all realized, in unspoken agreement, that he wasn't scary, and started talking with him in French. He was suitably delighted that we spoke his language, and we had a long and scattered conversation about France, California, and other things. When he found out I lived on RER B (my métro line), he embraced me and said something along the lines of, "I'm so sorry for you! It's the smelliest one!" (Which validated my own personal belief that RER B is hell on wheels, incidentally.) Anyhow, we all drifted back into our own conversations again eventually, but when he and his friends left, he shook my hand and gave Vicky and Silvia bises. I know that, realistically, he was probably just talking to us to gauge his chances of taking one of those two home, but it was nice anyhow. It's fun to talk to non-frightening people!
Have I mentioned our plan of staying out all night again? We were doing well at this point. We left the bar when it closed, a little after four, and set out into the night. Miraculously, there was an open pâtisserie, so we bought some pastries and savored them. Then we picked our way over to the Bastille area for a café. By the time we finished there the sun was rising, so we headed over to the Seine. We had some champagne in Silvia's purse, and wanted to drink it in this one park at the head of Île de la Cité. Well, we walked over, and on the way saw people having sex on a bench. Real sex -- I'm not exaggerating. We saw them take off their pants! Quite exciting. Anyhow, we did drink our champagne, feet dangling over the Seine, enjoying ourselves, even though once again there was no sunrise -- just a gradual lightening. Oh well.
Part of our reason for staying out all night was because we wanted French breakfast from a café once more during our stay, but knew we'd rather stay up until restaurants opened than wake up before they stopped serving breakfast. We definitely were the first customers in the restaurant we chose, a café near Place Saint-Michel. And it was delicious.
By then it was really time for bed, so we went home. I fell asleep around 9:30, loving Paris once again. At first I was afraid it would be a waste to stay up all night again, thinking I had more to do in the daylight. But honestly, I am so glad we did it! It's so interesting seeing the city wake up. Sure, there are people having sex on benches, but there are also quiet, lovely streets empty of their daytime bustle. We saw, for instance, the plaza in front of Notre-Dame completely empty of people. If you've ever been to Paris you know how impossible that is! The plaza was a little barren and filled with litter. But it was ours, and it was wonderful to see.
So big thumbs up to all-night Paris.

:: I don't know how this happened, but I woke up ready to go at 12:30 on Saturday, and decided to take advantage of it and do some sightseeing. I spent the afternoon a little north of where I had been on Thursday, in a clean bourgeois area of Paris. It was not without its faults. I was really thirsty when I got there, but couldn't find anywhere to get something to drink! No restaurants, hardly any cafés, everything closed... very bizarre. Most of Paris is madly bustling on a Saturday, so seeing these rich, empty streets was strange. But I had things to see. I visited a church called Saint-Augustine, a Neo-Gothic pile with steel supports in the inside, actually pretty cool -- though there was some weird ceremony going on in the church in which hundreds of children were wearing white robes, so I felt bad looking too long, or at all, really. I also went to see the Russian church of Aleksandr Nevsky, finding it a little smaller than I expected. And then I headed to lovely Parc Monceau. I had good intentions of finally seeing the sights of the park, but when I got there tiredness hit me and I just perched on a bench and people-watched. It was nice... so this was where all the rich families came on Saturday. Lots of young families were hanging out, as were teenagers and joggers and old people and everyone else. It was lots of fun. Singing Man was there, a man who apparently listens to opera on his iPod and jogs around belting out songs (he was there last time I came to this park). I enjoyed the chance to relax, and tried to figure out (from my observations) whether I want kids or not.
After that, I met up with the others and we had what I think was one of the nicest adventures of our time in Paris. The Bois de Vincennes is the crosstown cousin of the Bois de Boulogne (the home of the prostitutes); it's supposed to be the cultured English one, but in reality looked the same to me. Anyhow. We went for the purpose of renting a rowboat and going for a promenade (as the French quaintly call it) on the water. For some reason I was filled with this (possibly tiredness-fueled) sense of dread, expecting something terrible to happen. The boat rental place would be closed, or we wouldn't find it, or we would drown, or something. But none of that happened. Amazingly, the sun came out for our visit to the Bois, and we found the rental place when there was still plenty of time to get a boat, and had a great hour on the water. There really is something romantic and relaxing about a boat. This Bois has a large ornamental lake set up in a figure-8 shape, so we meandered among its curves and channels, chilling out with the swans and bridges and main island's fake Roman ruins, soaking in the sun, feeling the breeze, chatting and relaxing. It was unspeakably pleasant. We returned to land just as the sun began to set.
We worked up an appetite during our promenade, and went for an unspectacular dinner near Place Saint-Michel, and then headed home. I was still tired from before so I was not sad to call it an early night. I feel like the boat was enough happiness to last me a while. God, that was nice.

:: Today, Sunday, we had our last day trip, an adventure into the countryside to visit Monet's house and garden in Giverny. We made our way there without incident, although the walk from the train station to Monet country was much longer than we expected! Anyhow, Giverny is a cute little town with bountiful flowers and charming houses and lush hills. Monet's name is everywhere. This is where he set up camp after he was successful and when he had the privilege of creating a giant garden for inspiration and painting, like, ten thousand water lilies. We saw both his house and his garden. The house was one of the lamest tourist attractions I've ever visited. There weren't any plaques or exhibits or explanations, just empty rooms and some reproductions of paintings! It must be said, though, that man had good taste in color schemes.
The gardens, however, were worth the trip. We've all seen Monet's paintings of water lilies and bridges and ponds and all that. Well, he actually built a Japanese-inspired garden in Giverny. It's quite an elaborate set-up... pretty nice. I would be inspired by it if I were artistic.
Although this might sound somewhat silly, we ended up spending the most time at a long, lingering lunch. We all got grandes salades and a Normandy cheese platter afterwards. It was really good! Amusingly, it was at the terrace of Givenchy's other big attraction, the Museum of American Art; there were so many Americans around, and the bathrooms felt like they'd been airlifted right from Omaha or something. But I've found that museum-affiliated cafés are always good, so I felt no guilt for being there among my countrymen. It was such a good lunch that we completely lost track of time and ending up missing several trains home! It was worth it, though.
Now, we always have Sunday dinner out; since this is our last one, we wanted to go somewhere nice once we got back to Paris. But we didn't really plan adequately and so ended up eating at a very normal restaurant of the type we've always chosen, especially back at the beginning -- a reliable French bistro with a menu (prix fixe). At first I think we were all a little disappointed by the ordinariness of our meal. In the end, however, it was very good -- genuinely. I guess we don't really need that nice of a meal, after all. We do indulge a little every weekend! Seriously, I'm actually glad we just paid homage to the kind of restaurant that's served us so well during our séjour.

I think that's the end of the narrative. Sorry that was so long -- I'n cramming a lot into these last days! Um, I'm actually feeling complicated feelings about Paris and the prospect of leaving it, but I think I'll save them for another day. It's time for bed. Thank you so much, however, for reading. Comme d'habitude. Ciao!

I've been noticing something lately. The elderly people who live in Paris – and trust me, there are a lot; this could be renamed Retirement Community-Sur-Seine, I swear – are pretty smashingly dressed, it must be said. They deck themselves out in heels, suits, ties, dresses, jewels – the works. And the funny thing is, it isn't just the more formal clothing that the American old might wear, which might look fancier, but also looks 50 years old, and often is. No, although dignified and tasteful, I feel like the clothes the aging Parisians wear are not that far removed from what young, stylish Parisians wear. It's nice to see.

Forgive me for talking about the way the old dress themselves, but I've been thinking a lot lately about how new and old intermingle in Paris. This is probably something I've talked about before, but for some reason lately it's really been standing out to me. Of course most of Paris is old, madly old, but it doesn't oppress me the way certain other places have with their cloying sense of history. In fact, I've noticed a sense of novelty in Paris that I didn't necessarily see at first. Yes, the city itself is ancient, but there's always something new and innovative happening. And so many public places have a touch of whimsy that keeps them fresh and interesting. I think it's a good way of dealing with the city's age.

The flux of Paris's sense of long-term time makes a strange contrast to the reality of our stay in Paris, which is drawing quickly to a close. It is hard to imagine the end. So, I won't! Let's do things the Parisian way and celebrate the past, as I relive the glories of the past week and a half.

:: Oh, gentle reader, are you getting sick of me recounting parks and museums? I hope not, because you're in for a long entry if that's the case! The first attraction I visited last week, after a few days in which I had to do schoolwork, was the Musée Picasso in the Marais. This is the gallery in which France's national collection of Picasso works is exhibited. None of the works on display are that famous, but together the collection is amazing -- a complete journey through his many styles and eras, incorporating sculptures and sketches he made and art curios he bought, like his famous masks from Gabon. Anyhow, we all know that Picasso was a genius, so I don't mean to belabor the obvious, but really -- seeing everything he's done is amazing. I read somewhere that he's the most important art figure of the entire twentieth century, and after strolling through this museum I really buy it. He's pretty spectacular.

:: I have really gotten into doing walking tours from my guidebook, or rather, what I hope are more discrete versions of the walking tours from my guidebook. (It's an Eyewitness guide, and whenever I go on one of them I see old rich American couples with the same book, walking my same route. I have no problem with American tourists but I'd rather blend in!) Anyhow, with the book's recommendation I walked around the Canal St-Martin, an old industrial canal that connects northeastern Paris to the Seine. Now it's just a calm green river in miniature, crossed by iron bridges and with tent cities of homeless people lining its banks. I'm a fan of anywhere with water, so I found it beguiling. Also, I didn't know this going in, but it's totally the place where Amélie goes to skip rocks and be sad in the movie! I had a happy little quiver of recognition. I also got to see the locks in action when a river cruise boat came through, and it made me feel like an old man to find it interesting, but it was, watching the lock-keeper open and close the gates and watching the boat rise, like an elevator.
I took one of the tour's side-trips, which involved visiting the Hôspital Saint-Louis. I didn't expect it to be an actual hospital, since words like that often don't mean what you'd think they would, but a hospital it was. I had some ethical qualms snapping pictures of its courtyards as people with IVs shuffled past, but oh well – it was beautiful and calm. Also, the hospital is celebrating its 400th anniversary this year. I can't even conceive of that much history....

:: We had an accidental adventure on Friday night, staying out until after sunrise! It felt very exciting and Lost Generation-y. The evening started because there was this bar we had heard about (and wanted to visit) near Place de la Bastille which was supposed to have Barbie dolls and religious icons stuck on the wall. Well, it certainly had colorful walls, but no Barbies -- the place turned out to be an enormous homage to porn, with various graphic collages hanging everywhere! It was a convivial place to have a drink, though. They closed around one, surprisingly, so we headed out to find something new. There was this bar down the street which looked lively and seductive, full of small tables and dancing candles and beautiful people, but as we walked past we saw the bouncer turning people away at the door. Well, we thought, that's probably a lost cause. And then we thought, well, why not try to get in? And somehow, we just breezed right through! I have rarely felt more like a celebrity. And the bouncer was definitely blocking other people behind us. We did get a surprise when we got the bill -- our drinks were 21.50 apiece! Zut alors! But that is the price one pays to mingle with the beautiful. Also, the drinks were enormous. We left happy.
By the time we left, it was pushing on three o'clock. Getting home on the bus would have probably taken two hours, so it dawned on us, well, why stop now? Let's stay out all night! (The Métro opens again at 5:30.) And so that became the new goal of the evening. It was surprisingly easy. Paris is usually fairly sleepy by two or three, but we managed to find stuff to do, and even found a crepe stand -- food after nine or ten is almost unheard of here. Let me tell you, those crepes were delicious, though. After that we got café at a bar, standing and feeling very suave that we were refueling for more fun at 4 in the morning, and then headed for the Marais, where our favorite bar was closed but thankfully another was open. We ended the night with a bottle of white wine (which seemed to horrify our waiter – "blanc?" he asked; apparently white wine is not the thing to drink at dawn) and then went to watch the sun rise over the Seine. Well, it didn't really rise, the sky just got less gray (it was kind of a grim weekend). But it was still fun to be out. And despite the fact that we were once called "petites salopes" -- little sluts -- on the streets it was a successful night.

:: I had a fun Saturday of sight-seeing. I took another walking tour, in fact the last, of an area which is actually quite near my dorm, a neighborhood called Le Butte aux Cailles. I've seen it called a village within Paris, or something like that; it's just a very un-Parisian neighborhood. The houses are short, the colors are pastel, the architecture provincial, and the streets narrow. I also stopped in the neighborhood church. Usually I'm not in the mood to visit places of worship, but it looked inviting, and was cool and quiet. All in all, a pleasant neighborhood to visit.
I also went to Parc Bercy, another one of Paris's modern parks. Because of its newness and riverside location it invites comparison with Parc André Citroën, the terrible park I visited (and wrote about) earlier. But it's a much more pleasant place. It's set up like a traditional French formal garden, with a grid of paths, but the paths are all slightly askew; nothing meets at right angles. And each little quadrant has amusing surprises -- duck ponds, fountains, rose gardens, earthen mounds, paths, etc. It's a fun place for a walk. I give it thumbs up.
Perhaps the most exciting part of the day was finding the Piscine Flotante, the floating swimming pool on the Seine! Unfortunately it was closed for repairs, but I was excited to stumble across it by accident -- I had read about it a long time ago.

:: On Sunday Vicky and I journeyed just outside of Paris to the Marché aux Puces, the world's original flea market. (Puce means flea, and it refers to the flea-ridden blankets that were sold there back in the 1700s.) It's a Paris institution, and I hoped it might be a good place to do some shopping for souvenirs. In essence, I was hoping to find an endless yard sale, booth after booth filled with buttons and tchotchkes and books and other junk. Well, it was quite different from what I was expecting. Endless it was, but it turns out this is a "classy" flea market. The stalls are all permanent, and they all deal in antiques and real collectibles -- not your average Goodwill junk! It's like a village of antiques, really. Anyhow, even though it wasn't at all what I wanted, it was still fun to poke around there. The highlights were a stall selling vintage Chanel jewelry, which was pretty cool to see (and surprisingly appealing, even by today's aesthetic standards), and a store selling old postcards with messages on them! Total voyeurism into the tourists of a century ago.... Anyhow, it was fun. We also had delicious pizza afterwards, which colors things happily in my book.

:: On Sunday night we finally had a dinner we've been hotly anticipating for months -- fondue! I think fondue might be the origin of the expression "cheesy" because it's such a delightfully tacky way to dine. Apparently real Parisians would never set foot in a fondue restaurant; we were surrounded by other tourists. But it sure was delicious. The fondue was just a big bubbling vat of cheese and wine and oil; the bread was good and crusty; the chocolate fondue for dessert was delicious. I'm really glad we did it! There's just something pleasing about such active food... eating and entertainment.

I think those were the main adventures since I last wrote. It might not seem like much; unfortunately, I've had to spend a lot of last week and this week with schoolwork. But as I write this, I'm almost done with academic obligations for the quarter -- just one research paper to finish. So things are good on that front. It must be said, though, I've had some stress over recent days. And it's ten thousand times worse to be stressed out about school here than it is to be stressed on home campus. I just... don't have any interest in schoolwork here. Why should I? There's Paris to see! So now I can start seeing it again.

I must also apologize for the long delay in between the last entry and this one. I know there are at least a few eager readers of my blog :) and I thank you all for reading it when you do. Updates had to stop for two reasons: the aforementioned schoolwork and the fact that my computer crashed earlier this week. Needless to say, I am not pleased about that, and it brings a number of new inconveniences to my life. Anyhow, that is neither here nor there. The point is... well, I guess the point is just, pity me and my technological problems. :)

With that I think I will sign off. This should be an exciting week -- there's a lot still to see, and a week and a half to do it all! Tomorrow my last burst of tourism begins in earnest, and I look forward to telling you all about it in some future entry. Until then, bisous! Au revoir!